


When You Love Something

by charlottechill



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, Male Slash, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Sexual Content, Slash, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlottechill/pseuds/charlottechill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something almost slips by Buck. Something good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Love Something

Sometimes, I envy Chris. Not often, if I'm gonna be honest about it, because I like being me too much and I'd never, ever want to suffer some of the things he's been through. And I'd never trade being looked at with his eyes, reading all his feelings right there in 'em, sometimes so open and intent and others, half-smiling… hell sometimes he's laughing at me, but I don't mind. I like it when he laughs. 

But since I was thirteen or so, I've been a pretty big guy – finally topped out at 6'4" and pretty close to 200 pounds. I'd have to fuck a Broncos linebacker to really know what it's like to be taken in hand, if you know what I mean. Chris, he likes that sometimes, likes to be pushed a little, to feel the strain of muscle on muscle and sweat-slicked skin slippin' and slidin' over even more sweat-slick skin. He likes to lose to it too, loves the struggle almost as much as he likes giving it up when I win. I can't say as I blame him. I reckon I'd like that too. But Chris doesn't have the reach or the height or the muscle on me. He's just got the ornery, and I have to say, at love play ornery's about the last thing you want, most times. So he can't really take me, like that. Now, he probably could in a fight – like I said, ornery. And tough as nails. But then it wouldn't be about sex anymore; it'd be about hospitals and stitches and setting broken bones. 

Still. I look at him sometimes, when he's pinned under me like he is right this instant, chest shiny and slick and heaving, face flushed, eyes too-bright and boring right into me, teeth bared in something between a grin and a grimace… the muscles of his arms bunch, biceps and deltoid, and veins pop up just beneath the skin. Makes me want to let go of his wrists and lick 'em. Put my mouth right at the join of arm and shoulder and suck a hickey so dark he'll be cussing me for days. Suck other things.... 

Finally, a noise registers. I think he's just said 'hey,' but I couldn't swear to it in court. 

"Huh?"

He's grinning, laughing at me even now, even as he strains his biceps again and his chest muscles pump up and tighten with the effort to throw me off. "It's not like you have to play to win all the time." 

Which is a point, and a good one. I ease off a little, just enough to let him throw me if he really works for it, which of course he does. Competitive bastard, if I give him an inch he'll take me whole. Just like I will him. 

Still, I think as I laugh along with him, as the world tips and I land on my back with a grunt and a sudden need to thrust my dick against his, we'd laugh ourselves sick if he ever tried to pick me up and carry me through the house like I've done him a time or two. 

He ain't tiny. He's more than a handful, and heavy enough that I'm huffing and puffing by the time I get him to bed. But if he was the one trying to lift my heavy ass up in his arms… or pin me to the wall, my legs wrapped around his waist… 

"What the hell's so funny?" Chris growls, and it takes me a second to get that he's losing his sense of humor. 

"You don't wanna know," I say, and I'm being truthful; he _doesn't._ But he's frowning harder now and some of the fun is wearing thin, so I hump up underneath him, hard. "'s good," I say, and I'm being truthful about that too. Just because I'll never quite know the joy of being manhandled, held up, fucked against a wall with my legs wrapped around his waist – hell, his face 'd be about even with my belly button – 

Chris lifts my wrists and slams them back harmlessly against the mattress, shaking me a little, and I realize I must be chuckling again. He knows my mind is wandering, and he's trying to recapture my attention. _You've got it, Chris,_ I want to say. _You've got my attention, have for a long while now._ I tighten my own muscles, and test his balance by thrusting my hip up and to the side; he hangs on, and grins, and pushes my wrists deeper into the mattress. 

"Not gonna get away that easy," he purrs. 

I think about how I almost got away. How I didn't even know I was gonna land here, way back when. It wasn't like I did anything, or acted a certain way – hell, all I did was be his friend, the easiest job in the world, believe it or not. Tailor-made for me. All I had to do was be his sometime lover, and play the field without getting hung up too seriously on a woman. All I did was be there for him when life fucked him over, and then let him alone when he needed time to heal… all I had to do was get bored with the juvenile skirt-chasing I'd done my entire life, and lift my head up and see what was right there in front of me. 

I remember it like it was yesterday. There he was, hip propped against the fender of Vin's Jeep on that crisp, cool autumn night, looking as annoyed as he did about half the time he watched me trawling. There I was, just coming out of the saloon with a new woman on my arm. 

I don't even remember her name. 

When I sauntered over with her and met his eyes I saw something behind them, something that'd always been there but that I'd never much thought about. I can't say what it was, and I've never asked. But it looked to me like… like patience wearing thin. And it occurred to me that while I'd scraped by in college and done okay in my job and wasted tens of thousands of bucks on women and dates and horniness and refusing to be tied down, he'd carved out a career for himself, a life, a marriage and a future. He'd lost that future and tried to end his own, then come up fighting again. Another career, another future. And there I was, still coasting through my job, still chasing skirts and rolling along like a leaf on a breeze, and time was still a-wastin'. 

I thought about how many times he'd looked at me like that, and I remembered all the times he'd dissed and derided my manly pursuits. And I realized he'd been waiting for me, off and on, for a long, long time. That I'd probably missed a dozen chances or more to take, and have, what stood right there in front of me. 

I fight in earnest now, bucking under him and catching the look of surprise as slowly I force him to decide between winning at all costs, and lovemaking. He chooses lovemaking, and I lever him back to the mattress, back onto his back. I'm urgent now. I almost got away and never even knew it… 

"I don't want to get away," I say, fervent and, I'm sure, sounding like a damned fool, but I don't care at all. "I don't ever want to get away." Just because Chris can't fuck me up against a wall – hell, you can say that about 99% of the population. I can't even envy it now, since if I was him I wouldn't be able to do him that favor… do us both that favor. Nah, I'm okay being the bigger man, the manhandler when those times arise. I'm grateful I can give him a treat he loves that no one else ever gave him. I'm glad of everything I am, when I've got him right here in my arms, in our bed. 

He's not fighting anymore. He's just lying there, his whole body relaxed against the mattress as he looks up at me, searching my face. "Well that's good," he finally drawls, "because I'd hate to have to hunt you down and shoot you." 

Yeah. He understands me pretty good. 

-the end-

**Author's Note:**

> A product of the DnF "Autmn, 1000 words or more" challenge. The callenge involved setting the story in the fall. I failed.


End file.
